by G. E. White
“Interpol?” he asked, with a tilt of his head.
“No, my bosses have a lot more influence than Interpol.”
“And these people are interested in me?” he asked, disbelief coloring his words.
“Is that so hard to believe?” she countered.
“Only completely. Up until the last few months my life has been pretty uneventful. I mean my last name is ‘Smith’; one of the most generic last names in the world.”
“According to your file it might not be.”
He shrugged. “CPS gave it to me. They said I had retro-grade amnesia. Memories from the first eight years of my life completely wiped out. All they had to go on was the name ‘Quinn S.’written on the jacket I was wearing.”
“And no one came looking for you? No family? Friends? People who wanted to talk about your past?”
Quinn shook his head again. “Some couples came by and considered adopting me, but it never went anywhere.” The teen paused in his explanation to gaze intently at the older woman. “Did you know my parents?” he asked.
“No, sorry… at least I don’t think so.”
“Oh,” he said, hunching his shoulders. “So why all the questions?”
She scratched lightly at her temple. “That’s going to be a bit difficult to answer, the truth is I’ve been trying to piece your story together perhaps as much as you have... but I don’t have any answers, not yet at least. But perhaps this might help.”
She reached down behind the table to a bag at her feet and pulled out a large slightly rounded object wrapped in a dark cloth. Surina held the obscured object out to Quinn who hesitantly took it with an expression of suspicion.
“There better not be anything scary or threatening in here or I will scream so loud and make a scene to end all scenes,” he warned as began to peel away the fabric from the mystery object in his hand. Polished metal revealed itself to him with each tug until he was left with some sort of ancient helmet being cradled in his hands. Pulling the fabric away completely so that he could touch the helmet itself, Quinn stared at his own reflection in the polished dome.
This thing was ancient, what possible answers could it give him? Still staring at his reflection Quinn blinked…
While the eyes that now stared back at him were about the same colour, they now peered out from a very different face.
Still a male, the face before him was much older, in his forties or fifties, eastern Asian – perhaps Japanese or Korean.
Quinn looked up to ask what Surina was trying to pull only to see that wherever he was… whenever he was, was far from visitor’s room and the 21st century.
Laid out before him was the rampart of an old fortress or castle. Jinju Castle, his mind supplied; and like that everything came rushing back to him. The year was 1592 and he was the Korean commander Kim Si-min, protector of this fortress and leader of the 3,800 men who helped to defend her.
Looking out to the surrounding land he could make out a dark line on the horizon growing larger and thicker by the moment as the Japanese invasion troops marched on the castle. Both dread and determination swept over him at the sight. He and his soldiers were outnumbered once again, but this castle guarded Jeolla province, they couldn’t let it fall.
Earlier this morning he had laid hands on every one of his 3,800 soldiers, imbuing them with the strength and battlefield knowledge needed to see them through this. He remembered seeing the light of his magic suffusing into their very beings and now soldiers whose hearts had quivered at the sound of war drums now stood ready to do battle.
The magic that Kim had passed onto his soldiers didn’t guarantee their victory, but as Kim placed his helmet on his head, he vowed he would make it a battle the world would never forget.
Quinn blinked again and he was back in the visitor’s room, the ancient helmet no longer in his hands but on his head. Jolting back to the present, he scrambled to remove the helmet, tossing it onto the table and shuffling back in his chair like the object had attacked him.
“What the hell was that!?” he screeched.
“A memory,” Surina replied.
A memory? “So what? Like it’s haunted by the guy who use to own it?”
“No,” she said shaking her head. “It’s yours.”
The words caused Quinn’s lightning fast thoughts to grind to a halt. “What do you mean it’s mine?”
“The helmet is yours, so the memory is too. A vision of your former self. A past life…. Sebastien was right,” she said, muttering the last bit to herself.
“What do you mean he was right? Who’s Sebastien?” With each question that he spat out, Quinn could feel his panic bubble inside him. What did all this mean? This woman had said the helmet might help give him answers but all he had now were more questions.
“Sebastien is the man I work for, he’s the one who gave me that helmet and sent me to find you.”
Despite the craziness that had come hand-in-hand with this woman, Quinn could only hear honesty in her voice. “But why?”
Surina glanced away turning her head to the side. “That’s not an easy thing to answer, or at least the answer isn’t easy to swallow.”
“Then start small,” Quinn challenged. “Tell me why I saw the memory of some Korean warrior from the 16th century.”
“As I said, it’s your memory. That of a former incarnation of yourself.”
“So reincarnation is real?”
“Yes, but not for everyone.” Surina plucked an old-fashioned pocket watch from her blazer, clicked open the front panel and checked the time, before dropping it back into her pocket. “Tell me, do you know anything about Greek mythology?”
Quinn nodded. “I use to read all about it growing up.”
“Okay that will make this a little easier. You probably read mostly about the twelve Olympian gods,” she said, counting them off on her fingers, “Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Hades, Hestia, Ares, Athena, Apollo, Hermes, Aphrodite, Artemis and Hephaestus, though there are tons more. Usually these others are considered lesser gods, but that’s not really true. Many of them have more power than the so-called Olympian gods and every one of them is real.”
“You’re saying that the Greeks were right about the whole religion thing?”
“Yes and no,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You see these so-called gods and goddesses aren’t really gods, at least not in the way most people understand the word. They’ve got a boss just like everybody else. Think of them more like governors than actual gods, making sure that the world remains in balance. But unlike the myths, these gods have mortal bodies, they live and die just like regular humans, but unlike humans they have to come back.”
“They reincarnate,” Quinn surmised. “So you think I’m one of these reincarnated gods?”
“I wasn’t sure before, but I do now.”
“You do realize how crazy that sounds, right?”
Surina gave a soft huff, almost as if she was laughing. “I’m not the one who had the vision. So, who are your trying to convince, me or you?”
And that was the real question, now wasn’t it? Sitting there his mouth gaping open like a fish as he struggled to find an answer, some witty comeback, but he had nothing. Surina didn’t need to show him any more evidence; having come in contact with the ancient helmet his own mind had supplied it for him.
“I know this isn’t easy to process,” Surina assured. “We used to know what god or goddess would be reborn into what body. But our records of reincarnation were stolen almost thirty years ago, and several of the gods are unaccounted for.”
Surina paused for a moment. Quinn could not see her eyes behind the darkly tinted shades but, knew the woman was scrutinizing him intensely.
“My boss, Sebastien Azeri, sent me here to find you,” she continued. “He’s one of these gods and thinks that you might be one of his kind, and your reaction to that helmet just about proves it… though who exactly you are is a little up for debate.”
“What do you mean?”
“That helmet has been in the possession of a few different gods over the centuries, so finding out which god you are will require a little more investigation.”
Quinn raised his eyebrows. Despite what he had experienced he still had trouble excepting her words as truth. “You can’t be serious, right? I mean, this all has to be some big joke.” he scoffed.
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
The teen rolled his eyes, “I might be able to tell if you took those damn glasses off.” Reaching across the table he moved to take the woman’s dark spectacles, only to have Surina jerk her head back.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“What? You’ve got a bad eye or something?”
“Something like that,” she said with a shrug. “Sensitivity to light.”
Quinn slumped down in his seat. “Well this has been a total waste of my time.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Surina hissed, punctuating her statement by slamming her hand against the table. “I mean, think about it. My boss singles you out over everyone else. You and I can see things that others can’t. And you can’t explain away the vision you had when you touched that helmet. So, why else would I be here telling you all this?”
“Because you’re buckets of crazy?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
“Talk about the teapot calling the kettle black,” she muttered.
The teen folded his arms tightly across his chest. “I thought you said I wasn’t crazy.”
Surina sat back in her chair, exasperated and growing weary of verbally sparring with the young man. “Look, I’m just trying to do my job. The guy who sent me drew your likeness perfectly days before your picture was in the papers. He knew both what the verdict and sentence would be in advance. He knew when you were twelve you put worms in Jamie Cowen’s backpack because he called you a coward during recess. If he isn’t what I say he is, how would he know all that?”
Quinn’s eyes widened as she continued to speak.
He had never told anyone about the worms, nor had he ever been caught or even accused of doing the deed. The amount of detail that this Sebastien character was privy to sent chills up his spine. Part of him wanted to leave at that moment, to call Surina and her so-called employer out as stalkers. Yet there was something about Surina’s calm, no-nonsense tone that made Quinn want to believe she was telling the truth. She was right, he couldn’t ignore all the evidence.
“That doesn’t prove anything… even if what you say is true, that doesn’t mean I’m who he thinks I am,” he stated weakly.
“That’s very true,” the older woman conceded. “There is a chance that you’re not one of these gods, but just someone who is just… magically sensitive, to put it in layman’s terms. But wouldn’t you like to find out for sure? Think about it. If he’s right you’re not crazy. You’ll be free to leave this place and will never have to worry about money again. Gods are a pretty well-off lot, what with so much accumulated wealth. Give me the rest of today to help me figure this out and if at the end nothing comes of it, I’ll drop you back off here and you’ll never hear from us again.”
It was a simple proposition, but the possibilities of what could come out his agreement threw Quinn off balance. So many different feelings churned inside: fear, disbelief, but it was hope – hope that his life could turn around – that was the strongest of these.
He glanced down at the scrubs the facility had issued him, then out the window to the world outside.
“All right…”
The hard lines of Surina’s face relaxed at his answer, a light, but genuine smile gracing her lips. “Good choice.” Adjusting her collar as she stood, she gestured for the teen to stand as well. “Come on; let’s check you out of here. We should get moving while it’s still light out.”
Quinn stood and followed her out the visitation doors. “Where exactly are we going?”
She gave a short snort of amusement before calling back over her shoulder, “To meet your true self.”
~ Chapter 7 ~
When Surina told Quinn that they were going to meet his true self, he had expected something a little more… mystical. As he stared at the sign hanging over the stairs leading underground he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.
“This is the subway,” he pointed out.
“Yes, I can read,” she replied. “Now are you coming or not?”
Quinn pouted but said nothing as he and his guide descended the steps leading into the James St. Station of the subway line.
Before leaving Cedar Hills, Quinn had taken a moment to say his goodbyes to Jeremy. As strange as the other young man was Quinn was grateful for the unconventional companionship the other young man had provided.
Both he and Surina had also taken the time to change: he into the jeans, t-shirt and brown jacket he had entered the facility in, while Surina had ditched the lawyer get-up for an obviously more comfortable pair of jeans and tank top. Overtop she wore a dull red faux-leather jacket, which helped Quinn keep an eye on the woman as she slipped past others.
Personally, he had never had much use for the subway. During the long three months, he had lived on the street, Quinn had made friends with of several of the homeless who had taken shelter here occasionally. He couldn’t see why, the constant coming and going of trains created a harsh gust that sent a chill through clothing and flesh alike, not to mention the ongoing noise.
“So where exactly are we going?” he asked, struggling to keep up as they maneuvered through the throngs of commuters. “I mean, what train are we taking?”
Surina glanced over her shoulder. “Who said anything about taking a train? We’re heading to a place a little off the beaten path.”
“To do what?”
“To confirm my boss’ suspicion about you.”
Quinn stopped short as Surina turned down a corridor just off the main platform. “About me being some sort of god, yeah I got that, but just how are we going to prove this?... You’re not planning on pushing me in front of train or something, are you?”
Surina snickered. “No, as I said these gods aren’t immortal – tougher than most humans yes, but getting hit by a train will still kill you.” She turned to inspect a door marked ‘Employees Only’.
Quinn moved to stand beside her as she dug into her pocket in search of something. His lips pursed in irritation realizing that she hadn’t actually answered his question, but decided to let it go for a more pressing query.
“What if he’s wrong?” he asked her.
“Ah-hah!” she said triumphantly, pulling out a large ring of odd looking keys and beginning to flip through them. “What do you mean?”
“Your boss, Sebastien, what if he’s wrong about me? You said you’d just take me back, but how do I know you won’t just kill me to keep me quiet?”
“Who says I can’t just erase your memory like in ‘Men in Black’?” she replied stone-faced.
Quinn paled slightly, the subject of memory being a somewhat sensitive one.
Her mask of gravity cracked, giving way to an upward twitch of her lip at the teen’s expense. “I’m kidding. I wouldn’t worry about it anyway,” she assured. “You’ll soon discover Sebastien is never wrong.”
Surina found the key she was looking for and unlocked the door, quickly waving Quinn inside. Ahead lay another, longer dimly lit corridor.
“Oh…” he replied, “Must be nice.”
“Actually, it’s pretty irritating,” she said, as the door shut heavily behind him, the lock snapping once again into place.
Quinn continued to tag along behind Surina, through the long brick corridor. It finally ended with a winding staircase that led them down at least two levels where at the bottom laid a large ornate iron door.
He smiled as he took in the sliding peep door, reminded of the cheesy gangster flicks he used to watch at the Thompsons, his second foster family.
Surina rapped her knuckles against the door, the sound echoing up along t
he spiral staircase.
A few moments later the peep door slid open. A pair of brown eyes glared down at them. “Password?” a voice growled from behind the thick metal.
Surina gave the one behind the door an unimpressed scowl. “Leo, open the damn door before I bust your knee caps in.”
The glower of the so-called-Leo dropped in an instant revealing a much more relaxed and pleasant gaze. The voice that followed matched this new demeanor: light, jovial and a distinct New York Italian accent. “Eh, close enough,” he said before stepping back to unlock the door.
Quinn heard several heavy bolts being thrown open. Finally, the large door swung open allowing the two to enter.
Inside was nothing like Quinn expected. Instead of another dank and grimy hallway they now stood in a room that almost resembled a living area.
The left wall was covered with other heavy doors similar to the one they had just entered. A charming and cozy looking couch sat in front of a beautiful fireplace, the red and brown painted walls reminded Quinn of a log cabin. The built-in bar along the back walls appeared new, like something one would see in a frat house.
And the man behind the door certainly fit the frat boy image. Leo stood about six feet, four inches with a pair of lumberjack arms and a mop of curly red hair and a face full of stubble. Probably in his thirties, he still had a youthful energy about him. He wore a simple button down dress shirt with a blue t-shirt underneath.
Quinn could almost feel the warmth of the man’s smile as he closed the door behind them.
“Surina,” he greeted. “Long time no see.”
“Leo,” she returned with a subtle bow of her head. “I see you didn’t waste time fixing this place up.”
“Figure I might as well make my exile comfortable. I’m sure old Janus wouldn’t mind me fixing up the place while she’s on vacation,” he said with shrug.
“Janus?” the teen asked.
“Her name right now is Erica. She’s the current incarnation of Janus – God of Beginnings and Endings, Gateways and Halls,” she said before addressing the older man. “And I don’t think she’d appreciate being called old, Leo.”
